"Why don't you get a divorce? (早く離婚したら, Hayaku rikon shitara?)."
We are in our usual cafe, Madoka and I, a quiet little place where jazz flows softly from overhead speakers and everyone seems to talk in whispers. I stare at her over my coffee cup. Does she have any idea how lovely (美しい, utsukushii) she is? Strangely enough, she doesn't seem to. Nor is her bland expression in keeping with the bombshell she has just dropped. Divorce — the word has never come up between us before.
"I think about it sometimes," I admit.